


what happened last night

by awkwardspaceturtle (CastelloFlare)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Decisions, Crack, Denial of Feelings, Excessive Drinking, First Dates, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Morning After, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastelloFlare/pseuds/awkwardspaceturtle
Summary: Scarred yet handsome face half-buried in a pillow is staring at him with a billion-dollar smile. Keith’s automatic response is to freeze. His lower body has an all too different reaction.(also: Heartbroken Drunk Cute and Gay meets Handsome Sexy Spawn of Pornhub and gets a Profoundly Deep Message From The Universe to Bang Except The Sex Isn't Narrated Explicitly)
  UPDATE: New content! All new Chapters 2-4 inserted in the original narrative





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> kind of inspired from this [ tattoo post](http://eruriholic.tumblr.com/post/150759367727/captainshirogane-eruriholic) on tumblr  
> tho it seems like i've gone toooo far away from the original idea.......... meanwhile have some tender sheith and fluff

 

 

There’s a raging underground party in his head, bite marks along the ridge of his collar and on his pecs, a gash along his slender yet muscular arm, and a tattoo cradled in the curve of his hipbone.

There’s a fucking _four-inch dick_ tattoo on his hipbone.

Keith wakes up naked and screaming and immediately regretting screaming because of the throbbing pain in his head, his back, his hips, his ass –

Wait.

Didn’t he just break up with his ex a couple of nights ago?

So who’s the large also naked beefcake with the fabulous ass snoring under the sheets beside him?

Keith instantaneously regrets suddenly sitting up in a dramatic movie-like fashion, and he surrenders to the bed, vaguely registering that this is not _his_ bed and this is not _his_ room.

What the hell happened last night? Where did he go and what did he do?

Blurry images reminiscent of a drunk-guys movie swim around his mind, and he loosely recalls drinking in a bar, going to a tattoo parlor, running amok, almost getting ran over by a truck–

He is seized by the strong and sudden impulse to do a full-body check, just in case some remnants of the previous night’s fuckery had survived to give him a map of clues as to how he ended up in his birthday suit with a stranger.

He wills himself to move, starting with slowly pressing his fingers against the skin of his neck, shoulders, arms and limbs.

The blackening bruises and new abrasions obviously made by teeth and nails on his skin are evidence enough that it went real rough and steamy with his still unnamed partner last night. There are discolorations around his hips that are undoubtedly the outlines of the tips of someone’s eager fingers. Also, his ass feels like an arm had gone up there and Keith somehow knows that there _was_.

There’s another thing he wants to check.

Keith inhales deeply, exhales, and looks.

And has another impulse to scream.

There’s a number written with what was undoubtedly a Sharpie on his balls. His motherfucking _balls_.

Just where the hell was he last night?

A low yet light chuckle from behind him snaps him back into the real world.

Scarred yet handsome face half-buried in a pillow is staring at him with a billion-dollar smile. Keith’s automatic response is to freeze. His lower body has an all too different reaction.

“We just did it a dozen times last night, and you’re already up and feeling yourself?”

The man’s voice is still gruff from sleep yet it also adds a very charming appeal to it – Keith’s headache is almost replaced with the desire to wake up to this smile and voice every day.

Wow, that just sounded like marriage right there.

Keith falls yet into another headache.

Also, was the man serious? A _dozen_ times? _Damn._ Yet another thing to add into Keith’s ongoing list of regrets – forgetting what must have been the hottest sex of his life.

Also, where were the dried cummies? Did this guy clean him up after the intense fuckfest? Did Keith just sleep with a saint?

“You okay there, sugar tits?”

 _Sugar tits?_ The name somehow rings a bell.

“What the fuck? The name’s Keith.”

“That’s not what you said to call you last night. Also, thanks for finally telling me your real name,” Calvin Klein model material props himself up on one elbow and continues to stare at him, and Keith wonders if that ridiculous title was what this guy had to scream in the throes of passion all because of what his inebriated self told him.

“Keith,” he slurs the name in his tongue as if tasting it, as if the five-letter word was an invocation to seduce, entice, and yet somehow he makes it sound so gentle and warm.

Keith unconsciously bites his lower lip.

 _Nope, nope nope_ nope _, no fucking way._ Not this Abercrombie and Fitch model who looks like he can take good care of him like the ideal boyfriend, and can also fuck him to the moon and back like _the_ ideal boyfriend.

Nopenopenope, just _nope_.

“Okay, so you got my name,” Keith says and he makes a show of being annoyed. “So what’s yours?”

Another chuckle. Visibly embarrassed, yet sizably amused.

“… Have you checked anywhere near your ass?”

Keith blinks twice. He’s impossibly both shocked and resigned. Wordlessly, he tilts his hips to lift one asscheek.

Yet another Sharpie inscription.

“… Mister Shirogane,” Keith says, voice low in the uncomfortable void of awkwardness. He’s pretty sure his face could pass for an overgrown tomato by now.

“It’s _Takashi_ for you, babe,” the man says as he shifts his weight on the pillow. “Or _Shiro_ , if your sober mind is unwilling to be _that_ intimate so soon.”

“Okay. Shiro.” Now it’s Keith’s turn to taste the name in his mouth. It feels the sort of nice he should really avoid. He’s still lifting one asscheek when he remembers the still present sensation of having been fisted.

“… Did your arm…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro lifts himself up from the pillow with his elbows to nod, recollection filling his eyes. “You had this crazy idea of wanting to see how a reverse childbirth felt like. You even wanted to stuff yourself into a bag and try to come out of it without my help.”

“No way.”

“You kind of sent a photo of yourself curled up inside a big duffel bag to your friends,” Shiro chuckles yet again, and the soft vibrations of his broad shoulders echo with a different instrument inside Keith’s ribcage.

Keith decides to postpone his worry about the inevitable friendly torment he would be receiving for a whole month.

“And this?” He lifts his arm up to show the light abrasion.

“You almost got run over by a truck,” Shiro says, his expression suddenly going sober with the memory of worry.

“ _Shit_.”

“Shit is right,” Shiro says. “I still can’t believe it, yet you sidestepped so quickly back into the curb, unscathed – but then you collided with this random guy on a bicycle and stumbled and skinned yourself.”

“… Well, that’s not a battle scar story I’d be proud of,” Keith says, absently caressing his arm. Then he remembers the most important thing.

“The dick tattoo—”

“—Is a henna,” Shiro smiles yet again; apparently he had been waiting for Keith to mention it. “I was the one who put it there.”

Keith vividly remembers the feeling of strong hands pressing against the hard contours of his torso and hip, a gentle voice telling him to hold still.

“You gave me a very graphic doodle of your ex. Said you thought tattooing his face on your body would annoy him. I figured this was a colossal regret in the making, so I didn’t make it permanent.”

“Well, he _was_ a real dick,” Keith shrugged, yet his furrowing eyebrows betray the still relatively fresh emotions of having been left behind, of having been cheated on and thrown away like yesterday’s garbage. “You made the right call, though. Glad it’s not going to be there forever.”

“Well, I also knew I was going to bed you someday – I honestly didn’t think it would be so soon – and I wouldn’t want any other guy’s face looking at me while I sucked you,” Shiro shrugged playfully, a contrasting innocent smile plastered on his face.

This fucking face. This fucking face is making Keith’s stomach twist in a thousand knots. Why didn’t he meet this guy sooner? Why couldn’t he have met this Shiro in a better state of mind? Why is he still getting hopeful after just having been dumped?

Stupidstupidstupid—

“Look, I just went through a break up—”

“And I’m just looking for a hookup,” Shiro says, sitting up and meeting Keith’s eyes. “We were both conveniently together last night – you were conveniently intoxicated and I was conveniently working, and we were both conveniently looking for a warm body to play with, feel human for a few hours. That’s all it is. Last night helped me decide you’re just the kind of partner I need.”

Keith considers this and decides he owes himself a dozen rounds of mindblowing sex that he ought to remember.

So it’s a physical relationship. Nothing but convenience. No strings attached. You fuck then you go.

Maybe that’s also what he needs. He shrugs.

“Better save your number before I wash my balls, I guess.”

Shiro chuckles heartily and Keith is sure this is something he’s bound to regret.

And yet he doesn’t have the heart to take his words back.

“By the way, anything else about last night I should know about?” He asks, eager to shift his focus from the unexpected yet not unpleasant warmth resonating inside him.

“Oh yeah, before I forget,” Shiro begins, his expression sober as he inches a little closer to Keith. “We really have to take the dead rats out of the fridge and get rid of that body inside your trunk. There’s a river a few blocks from here and I think the cop we left under the bridge last night could use the company. Also, don’t worry; I already took care of the knife.”

Keith’s eyes widen, and the next thing that ensues is a short-lived pillow fight, abruptly cut off with the kangaroo-kick-to-the-shin-like hangover messing with his head. Shiro the saint quickly moves and makes him a banana shake.

Keith decides that pillow fights can wait for other mornings, in which none of them fell asleep drunk the previous night.

After all, it’s perfectly normal and not couples-exclusive to have pillow fights between two naked grown men alone in a bedroom, right?

 _Right_?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SNAPPP. 
> 
> last update was 10-27-16. now it's almost a year after (10-17-17) can you believe it bc I CAN'T OMG.  
> so instead of updating with a 6th chapter, i've decided to add three insertions between the original chapter 1 and 2 because it felt a little off to me when i reread the work... i just hope the continuity doesn't feel off or something ahaha, i mean it has been a fuccing year
> 
> to those who have read this before, thank you so much for giving this dumb story a try. it means so much to me that people are still reading this tbh, bc it has been a rough year for writing for me. i'm genuinely hoping yall like this <3 xoxo
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Everything about this just screams BAD IDEA. He’s quite aware of the fact that he’s still vulnerable, and the last thing he really needs right now is the touch and company of a man, the simplest reminder of one of the things he’d just lost from someone who had once mattered – _still_ painfully matters to him. That, and he should really be preparing for a long quiz on Monday.

Hence, this phone call.

“Hello?” He tries, wishing that the person on the other end of the line doesn’t catch on the way his voice cracks. Why’s his throat suddenly deciding to revisit puberty right now of all times? “Uh, h—”

_Heeey, this is Shiro~_

“Uh,” is Keith’s immediate obviously dumbfounded response, because he didn’t quite expect that someone would sound this chirpy and excited seeing his name pop up on the phone screen, but then again, maybe, “… this must be voicemail…” he wonders aloud, because was he really such a delight to be with to have gained this reaction?

He hears a totally unabashed chuckle from the other end of the line.

_Nope, it’s me. In real time. Hello, sugar tits._

“Ah, it _is_ you,” Keith deadpans and pushes the thought of the name away before he becomes severely embarrassed for something he quite vaguely remembers. Or maybe this feeling of embarrassment is due entirely to hearing Shiro’s hearty chuckle which reminds him of freshly baked pancakes topped with melted butter and a generous serving of honey and whipped cream in the morning, or maybe not.

_So to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing from you?_

Now that Keith’s imagination has wandered to whipped cream, a mental image of said whipped cream strategically decorating Shiro’s bare skin suddenly pops into his mind, and for a moment, Keith’s legs almost give out under him. It’s not something one can simply fight against—there’s just no going back after seeing a naked Shiro.

“Aw, fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his free hand pathetically sliding off the wall in an effort to stand his ground. Again, this is all just a bad, _baaad_ idea waiting to happen.

_Well, it’s quite polite of you to call me about such vulgar desires beforehand. Of course, I’m always happy to oblige._

“Err, no, that’s the complete opposite of what I was about to tell you—”

_So, no shameless and ceaseless drowning in our animalistic desires and sexual fantasies today?_

Keth holds back a laugh of his own at the sound of Shiro being so disappointed. Like a dejected puppy. Like a dejected puppy you’d want to take home with you. Like a dejected puppy you’d want to take home with you except he morphs into a big sexy man once you’ve showered him, fed him, and put him on the bed—

“Yeah, I got uh, I need to study for a quiz. So, uh… I can’t do it tonight,” Keith says after clearing his throat. This is really becoming unhealthy.

_… you sounded like you just had a really naughty daydream just now._

“I most certainly did not,” Keith replies with all efforts focused on keeping his voice even, and keeping decent clothes on the Shiro in his imagination. “Look, that’s all I really wanted to tell you, so I’m gonna go now and drown myself in some books—”

_Is that so? Then why—_

The sound of a door unlocking and creaking open fires up Keith’s internal warning signals, but these signals all miserably fail at inspiring any course of counteraction—Keith’s only response is to freeze in place, mouth half-open in an inaudible scream for help.

“—are you standing right in front of my door?” Shiro says, his mouth curved into a small grin that immediately plunges Keith into an internal impassioned debate with himself for calling it ‘adorable’.

More than that, his bigger worry should be how to get out of being caught red-handed like this, and not whether or not to make eye contact with Shiro’s exposed nipples. It takes a good two seconds before Keith could formulate a sound reply.

“… do you always greet people in nothing but your boxers?”

“Can’t help it, it’s laundry day,” Shiro replies smoothly, although there’s a soft pink tinting the top of his cheekbones. Keith is almost taken aback with this sudden display of slight embarrassment that his cheeks almost feel like they’re reflecting Shiro’s slight blush except on a much higher and amplified degree.

“Well?” Shiro says, tilting his head a bit to the side, his smile still the same brand of radiance and seduction. “Since you’re already here, why don’t you come in? Then maybe you’d be much more decided about what you really want to study.”

_Why are you standing right in front of my door?_

“Hahaha,” Keith laughs dryly, a hand reflexively flying up to rub on the back of his head. Right now he’s not entirely sure whether to feel extremely stupid or embarrassed or both. Why _did_ he come here, in _this_ flat, in a building a good distance away from familiar territory? Right after his last class for the day, he’d already been set on skipping on their scheduled night so he could focus on much more important matters at hand, and yet here he is, an hour away from the university, an hour away from the walls of the place that gives him unsolicited flashbacks of memories that are still too fresh, too painful to recollect—

The high-walled classrooms where they’d secretly exchanged dirty notes, a bench in one of the wide hallways where they sat together just listening to their favorite tracks, a booth in the library where they usually studied together, the campus grounds at night where they once hid in a thicket of trees to make out, the track field where they shared a clandestine kiss under the bleachers—

Without any sort of warning, a strong force quickly pulls him back from almost drowning into a pool of infinite yesterdays—quite literally, it’s Shiro casually pulling him into the flat. He hears the lock turn, and is immediately ever so immensely aware of his body sandwiched between the door and Shiro’s sturdy frame.

He’s expecting an assault to his lips or groin, or a quick squeeze of his ass, but none of that comes. The succeeding couple of seconds are quiet, if not for the growing thrum within Keith’s chest. Rather than holding onto what’s inside of his pants, Shiro holds his gaze instead, and that’s when Keith realizes his vision has become so glassy that it almost seems like Shiro’s looking at him with a really soft expression that strikes him as incredible uncharacteristic from how he’s come to know the man so far. Is Shiro in actual… pain?

“Sorry,” Shiro says, and he actually looks honest about being apologetic. “There was a draft coming in, and I’m not exactly fully armored at the moment.”

“Oh, right,” Keith mutters, and realizes that’s probably the reason why Shiro looked kind of weird a second earlier. He belatedly realizes with an even more amplified embarrassment why his vision is all blurry and quickly ducks his head. “Sorry, I guess I really should head back now.”

He moves to reopen the door, but apparently, Shiro’s not one to get rejected so easily.

“And spend another hour in heavy traffic inside stuffy public transportation vehicles?” Shiro says, his usual smile coming back to his face. “Was I really that bad of a host that you’d leave like this?”

“Wha—that’s not it—” Keith stammers, recalling the first morning he spent here enjoying a yummy banana shake hangover remedy concoction from Shiro (the only thing he can perfectly make in his kitchen, as he’d discovered), and the lazy brunch of takeout food that followed afterwards.

“You can have the couch,” Shiro says as he finally takes his weight off Keith to take a step back into the room, and it’s the first time Keith catches his new pair of furry black lion paw-slippers. “Oh, and feel free to make yourself some coffee or something. I’ll be in the laundry room.”

Without another word, or even checking to really make sure Keith doesn’t leave, Shiro turns around and heads for an open door across the flat. In the next minute, the mechanic whirring of a washing machine coupled by Shiro’s carefree humming are the only sounds that fill the living room, followed by the sweet smell of fabric conditioner being poured into a separate basin.

Quite dumbfounded where he stands, Keith stares at the open door of the laundry room, his mouth partly open.

_Why are you standing right in front of my door?_

Deep down, he already knew the answer. This place, a destination far off and untied to any of his past—everything here is new, different. No ugly ghost in the room, no familiar voices nor particular fragrances that cruelly throw him into a grove of painful memories.

For the first time today, he feels his mouth curl upward into a small smile. He takes off his shoes, and makes his way to the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm quite nervous about this chapter. i've been writing since 2PM and now it's 10PM O.o  
> i hope i'm still coherent~~

After finally finishing all the washing, rinsing, and hanging of his clothes in the balcony, Shiro takes a quick warm bath, and dons the only available garment in his closet—a black and white lion onesie with a hoodie with actual feline ears. It came as a set with the slippers. After all that, and Keith is still face-deep in reading his school notes while he paces the room; apparently he’s not one who can concentrate unless he’s moving around.

“Sorry that took a while,” Shiro says, catching Keith’s attention and thereby alerting him to his current appearance. “You hungry? I could call for some take out.”

Keith takes a split-second delay to respond—apparently he isn’t sure whether or not to burst out laughing, or to quickly disregard what he’s seeing and pretend nothing’s out of the ordinary. Of course he fails in the latter.

“Pffttt—” And he bursts into a wild fit of laughter, which catches Shiro totally off guard because—well, when has he ever seen Keith like this while in a state of sobriety? This isn’t the same inebriated Keith who randomly laughed at the most ordinary and mundane things (tissue rolls, toasters, socks, you name it) that one night, this is actually a normal Keith in a normal frame of mind, laughing wholeheartedly at something he genuinely finds amusing.

“Oh, you like it?” Shiro says, and he makes a show of turning around to let Keith see the entire outfit. “It even has an actual tail.”

“Did you get that for some furry-themed sex play?” Keith says, a hand cupping his stomach. “Because if it was me, I don’t think I can ever take you seriously.”

“Is that a challenge?” Shiro says, his hands slowly unclasping the first two buttons in mock seduction.

“You really have to know when to stop,” Keith replies, but his shoulders are still shaking and he’s literally sliding back into the couch to muffle his laughter against a pillow.

Shiro feels his own smile growing as he walks over to the kitchen counter where he left his phone. “But really, anything you want to eat? I know a guy who can get us some of the best pizza in town.”

Suddenly, Keith springs up from where his face is buried, small beads of tears still painting the corners of his eyes. “Oh yeah, I think I keep hearing your phone vibrate every five minutes. Work?”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, Keith,” Shiro says as he discovers the long list of said missed calls and unread messages. Mostly from work friends and… those kinds of friends.

“Jack? Who’s that?” Keith asks, the laughter in his system all released and spent. Shiro looks over at him and realizes Keith genuinely took the statement literally.

“Oh, I meant all those notifications are all for pleasure,” Shiro replies casually as if he’s merely explaining how a pen works as he swipes through the mountain of missed calls to empty the list. “They’re invitations for sex. I’m kind of on demand.”

Keith doesn’t reply—their easygoing conversation a while ago suddenly felt like it ended, and Shiro realizes how alien Keith must be from his world. That’s right, he reminds himself—Keith is the antithesis of everyone else he has ever involved himself with.

Keith finally finds his words, his thoughts, but his voice is considerably small and devoid of the vibrance it dripped with a while ago. “Are you…?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Shiro finds himself responding quite quickly, eager to dispel any ideas that are forming within Keith’s mind. “I mean, I don’t do this for money. I’m just really, well in a word, playful. Everyone else in my contact list is also the same.”

For a seemingly infinite second, Shiro is suddenly attacked by a swarm of emotions that are very unfamiliar to him—is he actually scared about what Keith is thinking about him right now? Has the living room gone smaller, the front door closer?

“Well that explains why you have a ten-year supply of condoms under the bed,” Keith says contemplatively after what seems to Shiro as the longest time. Somehow that overbearing cloud of suffocating feelings instantaneously dissipates as soon as Keith drops these words, and consequently so does the heavy weight within Shiro’s ribcage.

“So you have a lot of lovers. Isn’t that kind of complicated?”

Now it’s Shiro’s turn to take a split second delay. “Complicated how?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Keith says as he spills back into the warm comfort of the couch to direct his eyes to the ceiling. His next words come out disjointed from each other, as if he isn’t quite sure how to collate them into a proper sentence. “I mean, just what if… you know, being human and all that… well, there’s a risk in these sorts of situations, right? TV has taught us that… I mean, the danger of, uh, falling in love. Okay, it’s cheesy, but you know, it’s still something that could happen.”

Of course that’s something Keith could see as happening. He’s the antithesis—this is exactly what makes him the green apple sticking out from the red ones.

“You’ve got a point,” Shiro says as he rests his elbows on the counter. “But the thing is, we’re not in it for any textbook romance— it’s more of convenience, to satisfy the most natural and primal of human needs. I don’t know about exclusively sticking to a monogamous relationship, but this is the system that works for us. No responsibilities, no commitments, no regrets.”

That’s exactly it, in summation. It’s a simple and rational code to live by. It’s a code he’s been upholding since entering college, the only way to live that has allowed him to go on with worriless bliss, without such things to keep him in tethered to a terrible past.

“No regrets, huh,” Keith repeats to the ceiling, his sober voice pulling Shiro away from an uninvited reverie. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as if to make sure whatever pressure’s inside of him is entirely released. Then he laughs, albeit mockingly, as if to make fun of his own naivety. “I wish someone had taught me all that before I got myself into a relationship.”

“Exactly,” Shiro says, his voice small even to his own ears. He belatedly thinks that he hopes Keith didn’t catch that slight hitch in his throat. “I mean, you’ve been there yourself. Love, attachments… they’re just there to complicate things.”

Keith’s voice sounds even smaller when he speaks.

“… I think it’s people who complicate things.”

Shiro takes another step back into what he’s made a forbidden territory in his mind— _Why are you complicating things?_ – he’d once been told. And he’d never done anything to complicate things again. He’d always made sure he was never going to get hurt again.

 “I think you’re right,” he finally says after closing the door on that unappealing memory. He pulls himself back from the depths on his suddenly aching chest, and summons the usual cheery tone he always wears on him. “And how can you tell? If you’ve fallen in love, I mean. How does it feel like? So I’d know when to stop with this risky business of mine.”

“Well, young padawan, for a walking electronic dildo like you who goes on uninhibited sexual marathons,” Keith says, a little laughter back on his tongue and the animated vigor back to his limbs, “Let’s just say it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. Metaphorically, of course, because you’d be dead if that happened literally.”

“Hmm, you’ve been talking an awful lot already. Seems like you’re done with your studying?” Shiro struts over to the couch and hovers over Keith, all thought of food thrown out the window—they’ll be having a different kind of dinner tonight, he decides.

“Err, what exactly do you mean?” with an eyebrow arched, Keith askes even as Shiro is starting to unbutton his onesie.

“You didn’t really think it wasn’t going to end up being that kind of night, did you?” Shiro winks, and in less than a second, the lion pounces on his prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suddenly there's more plot now than secks!??!??! wtf is the actual genre of this lmao even i have no idea O.o


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this counts as the final inserted new content, but actually this was the first one i ever penned since the 10-27-16 update so i've had a lots of time to proofread this... this actually took me how many months to accomplish, like a few lines to actual paragraphs scattered over a period of weeks (again, it wasn't quite a great year of writing for me bc my mind was really dry)
> 
> anyway, that's enough of me rambling, i really hope you enjoy ^^ <3 xoxo

 

“I always say the best way to a man’s heart is up his ass, but I guess the old folks were right when they said it’s really through the stomach isn’t it.”

Keith doesn’t even have to look up from where he’s dressing the mini chocolate pound cake with some cream to know who’s reciting deep and profound dating quotes to him.

“One; it’s up the ass if you’re not a good cook, and two; this isn’t a seduction strategy,” Keith deadpans, already well-versed in his good friend and upperclassman’s sense of humor. “Didn’t it ever cross your mind that maybe this single serving of cake is for me and not for some other guy?”

Had it been any other person, they’d have been out off by Keith’s dismissive tone, but Matt knows him well enough to know that’s just how Keith is sometimes.

“Good, because if this was your way of winning _that_ wanker back, I was really going to hit you with this rolling pin,” Matt says, the large wooden article already prepared in his hand. After a contemplative pause, he adds, “But this also isn’t in partial fulfillment of jumping into the dumpee trope of eating to compensate for lost pleasure, is it?”

“Nothing good’s gonna come out of being depressed, except maybe if I want to write poems or edgy love songs,” Keith shrugs, pauses to step back and examine his work. “Why do you think I’m making cake for a ‘ _someone’_ anyway?”

“Because there is a ‘ _someone’_ , and I call him Mr. Weekend because you won’t say his name,” Matt says, taking a swab of cream on his finger much to Keith’s dismay.

“Mr. Weekend is—well, he’s, uh, for lack of a better word, convenient. I’m not hopping into a new romantic relationship, Matt. That’s not what Mr. Weekend wants, either.”

“But you’re here making an extra mini cake even after you’ve already passed one to the prof,” Matt says, his face thoughtful and somewhat relieved. He’s seen the entire post-break-up drama (except that one night Keith went AWOL to get drunk) to know how deeply it cut Keith to be thrown away by the first real boyfriend he had. There’s definitely something uplifting seeing his friend back to full human capacity, focusing his energy on something productive, even on something as tiny as this pastry.

“Can’t a guy make another guy food without it meaning whatever it is you’re implying?” Keith mumbles, a light fire burning his cheeks.

“Maybe if the guys aren’t doing immoral things together behind closed doors and semen-stained sheets,” Matt shrugs, a knowing look on his face. He seems obviously pleased when Keith’s only response is an almost inaudible string of incoherent syllables.

“Okay, okay, I’m just teasing,” Matt half-laughs at his friend’s added attempts at forming a proper retort. Keith is gradually becoming livelier than not (or as lively as he can be), and that is enough for now. “So, since you’re conveniently making extras, where’s the one for your awesome friend?”

Keith’s tiny smirk returns to his face as he’s finally found a coherent response. “I can’t possibly abuse the university’s limited resources, can I?”

“… I’m still judging you for that reverse-birth selfie.”

“Ack, _please_ drop it.”

 

 

 

 

They only meet during the weekends, but during those few times, Keith has surely gotten a lot out of their arrangement. It’s almost always surprising how much he _still_ didn’t know about his own body, or that of another man’s, or how liberating and satisfying it can be to just completely let the rest of the world fall into the background and lose himself in the care of his partner – Shiro’s hands and lips all over him, his pulsating erection drilling so zealously into him is the much needed drug he needed to infuse into his bloodstream to quench the beast inside his belly, the distraction he needed to feel wanted, human.

It’s two weeks into this furtive arrangement for mutual sexual gratification, and Keith thanks all the gods he doesn’t pray to that he kept in touch with the stranger whose name was once scribbled inside the deep depression between his asscheeks with a Sharpie.

He also simultaneously curses the same gods for letting him cross paths with Shiro.

Because God forbid, whatever they have between them – it’s transcended from mere convenience to a strong physical desire – desire to be held, to be wanted the way he has always hoped to be wanted by a _someone_.

This isn’t exactly how he’d envisioned himself sharing a bed with another man, but at the very least, this someone doesn’t come knocking on his dorm room late after curfew, and leaves the bed long before he wakes up the morning after.

That’s what he thinks as he contemplates on his life decisions over a large-sized choco-mint frappe, staring with detached disinterest at Shiro’s door.

It’s a Wednesday and he’s not even supposed to be here.

Even more so with a small self-baked cake from Economics class.

If it weren’t for the surplus (this one single cake) of pastries he baked today, he wouldn’t have thought of dropping by (a train ride and three bus stops away) to give one to Shiro. But then he figured that a small ‘thank you’ for his kindness last weekend should be in order, so here he is, without even having bothered to call Shiro to check if he was available. Not a great plan, considering there’s no other way of knowing if he’s still home or already at the tattoo parlor for work.

Then, like a conveniently placed plot point, he hears some noises coming from the inside just as he’s about to knock on the door.

He reflexively takes a step back as the door opens up to reveal a rather enthusiastic pair of lovers shagging and pulling on each other in broad daylight. Instantly, he feels all too exposed and embarrassed, like he was caught with his pants down watching some softcore porn and there was literally nowhere to hide, because right in front of him, the walking pheromone factory that is Shiro is leaning so coolly against the doorframe with a human male for a scarf– Keith takes a split second to input the appearance of this new guy – tall and lean with a nice perfectly concave butt snuggly fit into tight leather jeans and Shiro’s big hands; hair brown with streaks of gold, one ear pierced, face definitely attractive in a pretty boy kind of way.

In summation: Shiro can do so much better than Keith, and indeed he does.

And by “do”, he means the sexual penetration kind of way.

Not that he really has any say about what’s “better” for Shiro – and why should he feel surprised, when Shiro had already told him that sleeping around was kind of his thing? That the constant message notifications he’d see on Shiro’s phone by the bedside table were mostly booty calls from different people? In the first place, what they have together isn’t anything serious anyway – but suddenly having to be in this kind of situation – that has to be an unpleasant surprise, right?

There’s a lot of tongue upstairs, and a lot of groping down under, so Keith adopts the most natural response – he quickly turns around and faces the opposite door.

He can’t see them anymore, but he can hear them – hot wet kisses and short stolen breaths, a lot of gasping and moaning that should be illegal in public places. Suddenly he’s gripped by the urge to squeeze his hand over the cup of choco-mint frappe, but then again that would be a total waste of 32oz of calories and artificial flavoring. He decides that pretending to fumble for non-existent room keys would be better for his hands instead.

“Mm, not yet done, aren’t we?” Shiro says to the shorter man hanging off his neck, not yet noticing a wide-eyed Keith in the middle of his most masterful performance of looking for invisible keys in his pockets.

“Can’t you be just a little bit late in coming to work today?” Keith hears the other man purr, and instantly the awkwardness he feels churns in his stomach and turns into something much more ugly and unpleasant. His chest feels heavy like it’s stuffed with cotton or nails.

“Can’t. I’m going for employee-of-the-month,” Shiro says, his light reply accompanied by a small chuckle. Surprisingly, this blows away the dark clouds hovering inside Keith’s ribcage, which he isn’t sure if it’s the right emotional response at all.

Just as suddenly, the door in front of Keith opens – and he knows the universe is surely playing him, because he absolutely doesn’t want to be seen, and yet now everyone is looking at him: the elderly woman who actually owns the room, the pretty boy, and Shiro himself, who is finally noticing Keith awkwardly standing in the middle of the hall.

There’s only one thing to say to get out of this situation—

Keith tries not to stutter.

“Hello there, ma’am, would you like to hear the good news?”

 

 

 

 

“Fine, get it out of your system,” Keith mumbles, his head hung low in embarrassment. The old lady and the young attractive guy have both gone down the elevator, finally leaving them both alone by Shiro’s door. In front of him, Shiro has broken down in a fit of giggles, a light tremor in his shoulders due to laughter. Rather than being annoyed, Keith feels oddly filled with a tinge of small victory, thinking that he somehow tickled Shiro’s funny bone.

“I still can’t believe that’s the first thing you said,” Shiro says, or struggles to say in between laughs. He has legit tears in his eyes. “I mean, did you see the look on her face?”

Keith lets out a barely audible monotonic laugh and shrugs – his bigger concern right now is that when Shiro sobers up, he’s probably going to wonder—

“Why are you here?” he finally says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I mean, not that I don’t want you around because I do, but what are you doing here?”

“What am I— I mean, I uh— wait, you want me around?”

“Ooh, cake!” Shiro’s eyes and dental-commercial-worthy smile go wide with obvious glee as he spots the mini pound cake inside the transparent container in Keith’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Why would you think it’s for you?” Instant reaction: denial.

“So you, a student from M Uni, knows someone else living in this building, and you commuted almost an hour from campus just to give them dessert?” Shiro says, beefy arms crossed over his chest and an amused grin plastered on his face. Had it been anyone else, it would have rubbed off on Keith as cheeky, but after having spent some time with him, he knows how playful Shiro can actually be.

“Okay, I’m gonna go way ahead of you and say I am not breaking protocol,” Keith says, a little too animated with his arms flailing about and waving his frappe and the cake around unnecessarily. Also he’s trying to talk directly to Shiro and not just to his biceps. “I just happened to make an extra cake for my Economics class, so uh, here.”

For a moment, Keith’s hand is just awkwardly hovering in the air, the light weight of the plastic bag swaying faintly. A couple seconds more, and Keith feels like he should withdraw the package, because now that he’s giving it to Shiro it _does_ feel slightly weird, and why does it feel like it _is_ a scene from a cheesy high school romance—

Then Shiro’s hand meets his in the middle, their fingers graze for the tiniest instant, and the weight in Keith’s hand disappears.

“Thanks for thinking of me,” Shiro says as he puts the small package up to his eyes to examine it. He takes a moment to look at all sides of it like a kid admiring a new present. Then with a much sober and quieter tone, he adds, “It’s not every day that anyone makes something for me. And oh, what’s this about ‘breaking protocol’?”

Keith wordlessly blinks twice as he contemplates for an answer. Also he’s taking a moment to process just how big Shiro’s moobs are, now that his arms aren’t covering them.

“Uh, ‘breaking protocol’, you know,” he shrugs. “I mean this cake isn’t anything… romantic, or like a shoujo manga turn of events or whatever. I guess I just wanted to thank you for last time with this seriously platonic pound cake.”

This earns him a snort and an extended view of the way Shiro’s eyes squeeze shut like quarter-moons when he smiles. “So we’re not ‘breaking protocol’. Good to know.”

“Yeah,” is all Keith replies because he honestly doesn’t know what to say, because just hearing ‘good to know’ from Shiro feels inadequate, and feeling inadequate isn’t the kind of emotion he’s expecting to feel right now at all.

“Again, thanks for the seriously platonic pound cake. You don’t mind if I show it off at work, do you?” Shiro says, his smile ever so consistently beautiful and unfairly radiant. Looking at the sparkles in his eyes, Keith gets the feeling that Shiro will be parading his cake around the shop regardless of what he’ll say anyway.

“Do what you want,” he mumbles in response, shrugs his shoulders in mock indifference, and hopes that the sudden sensation of warmth leaves his face real quick. “Hey, you’ll really be late if you still keep looking at me like that.”

 “… Like what?”

“… Tch.” The heat rises all over Keith’s body – he knows that expression too well by now, and he recognizes the bit of playfulness in Shiro’s voice – that he just wants Keith to say it. Later on he’d silently reprimand himself for indulging Shiro.

 “Like you want to eat that cake off my body.”

Wow – he knew it would be embarrassing, but he did not expect this extreme level of mortification to engulf him despite the fact that only one person heard him anyway —

Before Keith can bury a hole in the hallway and disappear for an indefinite period of time, Shiro instantly snakes an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, close enough that Keith can smell what he’s absolutely sure is the perfume of the pretty boy that had been hanging off Shiro minutes ago.

“Well, just now you did say I can do what I want.”

Ha. Fucking spoiled. Keith decides he just can’t let this guy get away with anything he wants. “And just now you just said you can’t be late.”

“Quick one in the elevator?”

“You’re not exactly living on the 60th floor or something, you know?”

“Tsk. You underestimate me,” Shiro says, throwing a suggestive wink Keith’s way.

“No way. What are you…? No. You’re just saying that to make me curious and give in to some weird exhibitionist sexual activity that you’re planning,” Keith says without missing a beat as they both make their way down the hall. “It’s just not possible. I mean, seriously? It doesn’t even take a minute to get to the ground floor from here. I refuse to believe anyone has _those_ skills.”

“Are you trying to get me to prove you wrong?” Shiro’s smile is getting wider. As if in weird synchronization, Keith’s blush is getting deeper.

“Aren’t you just trying to get _me_ to get _you_ to prove _me_ wrong? And hands _off my ass_ please.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suddenly a wild matt appears! :D don't you just love that guy :)
> 
> anyways, once you click next, you'll be back to the original narrative, but i've done a few tweaks here and there to ensure continuity with the added content :)
> 
> thank you so much for reading! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Keith honestly did not expect to frequent Shiro’s place a lot in first month, what with the man being a promiscuous and definitely attractive spawn of Eros walking among the mortals, who had a whole army of people thirsting for him and waiting for his call or text. Yeah, it was impossible to ignore the insistent beeping noises Shiro’s phone made while he left Keith on his bed to shower.

 _Just the kind of partner I need_ , Keith had recalled as his eyes were fixed on the lit up screen of Shiro’s phone. More like, yet another sucker for dick and a convenient toilet hole Shiro could use.

Keith didn’t mind, not really. This _is_ all for convenience. They both liked what they got, so what?

You fuck then you go. End of story.

A couple of weeks after the first hook up, Shiro called him on a weekday. Weird, they only met up on weekends. Well, a dick can’t choose when to be horny, and Keith didn’t have anything scheduled that night.

_How do you feel about getting your ass pounded on Tuesdays and Thursdays?_

“ _Any day_ is a good day to get some ass pounding.”

 _The words of a wise man._ Keith could hear and imagine Shiro’s face as he chuckled, satisfied. _Same time then, 9PM._

His MWF classes don’t start until 10AM. Basically it’s the universe telling him fucking on schooldays is A-OK. “So you mean no more weekends?”

_Plus the weekends._

“ _Wow_ , what are we trying to do here, get me pregnant?”

Shiro chuckled, a soft sound Keith had grown pleasantly accustomed to.

_Is that your subtle way of asking me to marry you?_

Okay. Not these half-assed romantic sarcasm that Keith half-wants to believe. “How about _you_ take the ass pounding tonight, hm?”

There’s a pause at the end of the line.

_… When you come inside me this time, you better not ask me if I’m ‘feeling it now, Mister Krabbs’ because I will definitely—_

“ _This_ time? Wait, you mean to say we already—”

_God, you were so wasted. Oh, and should I prepare a smaller-sized condom then?_

“Fuck you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s hearty laugh made something warm unfurl within Keith’s chest and stomach despite the dick joke.

_I know you will. And don’t worry, you’re pretty big._

That day, time had never been so agonizingly slow. Keith could not wait until 9PM.

In fact, he couldn’t wait for every Tuesday, Thursday and weekend.

 

 

 

\---- 

 

 

 

His phone rings and vibrates on the bedside table, sending a soft humming sound around the room.

Shiro doesn’t rush to get it, knowing it’s another invitation from one of his many nightly visitors. He takes his time in the shower, letting the hot water softly pound onto his skin, rejuvenating his body from another day as an art student and his part time job in the tattoo parlor.

When he gets out, clad only with a towel around his hips and a smaller one around his neck, there are four messages from four different men and women waiting for him on his phone.

_Bored. Wanna come over?_

_Just bought a butt plug. Mind helping me put it in?_

_Anyone out for a beer?_

_If you’re also feeling horny, come at once._

Shiro chuckles and quickly responds with one message for all, his answer the same as it had been for a few weeks now: _Can’t. Staying in._

Almost immediately, he receives variations of the same reply:

_You still playing house with someone?_

_Oh god. Shiro’s tied himself down. I repeat. Shiro has tied himself down._

_:C :C The beer is disappointed in you for not playing so much outside these days :C :C_

_My favorite fuckboy, why have you forsaken me?_

Shiro laughs heartily and puts his phone back down. It has been a month of directly rejecting offers as such, and he can understand just why his friends were having these reactions. The Shiro roughly three weeks ago would have said yes to all of them, even inviting them all out together for an impromptu fuckfest.

He sits on the bed and rubs his hair dry with a towel as he looks at the clock.

They had made an arrangement to meet on Tuesdays, Thursdays and on weekends.

It’s a Tuesday and it’s almost 9PM.

 

 

It’s a few minutes after 9PM when there’s a soft knock on his door. Shiro gets up from the bed and walks the small distance of his flat to the source of the sound, opens it, smiles.

Before him, Keith is scowling, yet it’s obviously just for show; his eyes are feverishly raking over Shiro’s massive 3D tits and well chiseled torso, down to the cotton fabric of his tight-fitting black boxer shorts, and even further below to his heavy-set thighs and calves in which Keith has countlessly dry-humped himself to ecstasy.

“What if I was the pizza guy?” Keith says to his nipples.

“I didn’t order any pizza,” Shiro smiled.

“Or an innocent girl scout selling cookies?”

“At 9PM?”

Keith rolls his eyes and walks past a smug-looking Shiro into the flat.

Behind him, Shiro’s smile goes wider.

He chuckles quietly to himself. _This_ was the very inebriated and logically poopy Keith who had once told him “ _Just call me ‘Sugar Tits’ and I’m yours_.”

 _This_ was the guy who aggressively reprimanded a trail of ants for ‘blocking’ the sidewalk on the way to his flat one drunken night a month ago. Now Shiro knows better where the aggressiveness is most useful and benefitting – in bed.

Keith casually throws his bag down on the floor, automatically strips his clothes and puts them gingerly on a chair. Shiro wordlessly watches as each piece of clothing is shed, exposing more of Keith’s sunkissed skin. He lightly chuckles seeing the now proudly exhibited hipbone – he still laughs at Keith for that dick tattoo the first time they met.

Shiro locks the front door, walks over and lies down on his bed, facing the open door of the shower where Keith has just entered. A couple of weeks ago, on Shiro’s suggestion, he had left some bathroom essentials in the shower for convenience.

“Just leave it open,” he says, his voice low, his face propped on one hand.

Keith rolls his eyes as if to say _Again_? Yet he complies all the same.

“Voyeur,” he says mischievously as he steps behind the glass separating the shower and the toilet, turns on the water.

Shiro chuckles – he was the one who taught Keith the term – and with eager studious eyes he watches as the water licks over every line and curve of Keith’s physique, dampens his long dark hair and plasters it against his face, his back and shoulders. Keith closes his eyes and lets the heated water wash over him, easing the tension in his shoulders, and lets his lithe fingers lightly trail over his chest and torso.

Shiro swallows hard, shifts his lower body where he lies.

In a few minutes, it will be _his_ hands all over _that_ body, and it will be _those_ fingers clawing at his back.

Shiro can’t wait to be scarred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:  
> Keith deliberately drops the soap on the floor. He slowly bends down to pick it up, lingers in that position to let Shiro drool over his exposed ass.
> 
> Shiro spends most of the night eating that ass.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf wtf this was supposed to be a oneshot lmao im falling into multi-chaptered hell again  
> do enjoy your stay, and thank you for clicking on this written shitstain

 

 

On the fifth week, Keith learns that Shiro is still in fact, a student.

An art student, to be exact.

He’s sitting alone, a sketchpad cradled on his crossed legs and a charcoal pencil in his hands, by a large round fountain in the middle of the park and Keith just happens to stroll by from eating lunch outside. Once again, he notes absently how the universe is seemingly conspiring for them to meet.

Shiro doesn’t see him yet, and his delayed discovery allows Keith some time to drill this rare image of him into memory – he notes how it’s the first time he remembers ever seeing Shiro wearing _clothes_ , as if before this he had never associated anything other than fitting boxers on the man. He’s wearing a white shirt under a half-buttoned denim polo, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal the majestic lower half of his prosthetic and human arms.

Up until this moment, Keith had never thought the black-rimmed-glasses-jeans-and-sneakers combo platter could be so sexually appealing.

The early afternoon light seems to be drinking off of Shiro’s vibrance, and Keith curses the entire cosmos once again for how physically and emotionally attacked he feels right now.

It takes him a moment before he notices that Shiro’s smiling at him.

“Hey, Sugar T—”

“I thought we’re already done with that.” Keith interrupts before anyone else could hear, and plops down beside Shiro at the speed of light.

“You were staring so intently at me,” Shiro says, eyes still gingerly set on Keith. “You in love with me yet?”

"Ha ha ha." He says dryly, as if he's heard that pick-up line a thousand times already. Keith’s defenses are up; never trust anything remotely romantic from this mischievous non-committal fuckboy. Just ride with it, but don’t hang on his every word. “If you knew I was staring, then doesn’t that mean you were staring too?”

“Guilty as charged,” Shiro chuckles, and Keith regrets how much he likes how his eyes close whenever he does that adorable little laugh.

“What are you drawing?” Keith says, focusing instead on Shiro’s fingers and sketchpad. It’s a charcoal drawing of the whole park from his current viewpoint, and Keith gapes at the intricacy of the details and the accurateness of the lines and shadows, and fuck because being good at art wasn’t part of his genetic makeup.

Looking at his wide-eyed and open-mouthed display of appreciation, Shiro leans in, whispers: “My hands aren’t just good at making you come.”

Embarrassed, Keith lightly punches his side. “Shut up, you pervert.”

Shiro chuckles and goes back to drawing.

“It’s for an assignment at school. The theme was landscapes and that’s why I’m here,” Shiro says, his voice suddenly sober. “I like how the sun filters through the trees. It’s calming.”

Keith's mind automatically zeroes in on two keywords: ' _assignment_ ' and ' _school_ '. Now it didn't really cross his mind that Shiro might still be in college, or if he's taking up a masters degree, or anything at all. Keith never asked anything about him, and for good reason. He also doesn't expect Shiro to just suddenly talk about himself either, because their reason for hooking up on a routinely basis isn't to share life stories with each other after all.

Seeing Shiro anywhere but his apartment or his bed, hearing him open even just a small window into his life outside of sex - this is really something else, refreshing and new.

Keith wordlessly listens to him, lets Shiro’s voice drown out the rest of the world. He deliberately ignores how their legs and the sides of their arms are touching, how Shiro shifts a little to edge closer to Keith as if he still can’t see what’s on his sketchpad. He purposefully doesn’t look up to meet Shiro’s eyes, whose head has dipped lower, his breath a warm caress on Keith’s cheek, his voice a soft yet powerful melody in his ears.

There’s suddenly a lump in his throat. They’ve frolicked and fucked, countless times and in ways that would make a priest want to hold prayer circles of a national scale, and yet these pure little things make his heart beat like a drummer high on cough syrup.

The immense reality of not knowing anything about Shiro suddenly feels heavy in his chest, and with a deafening clarity he realizes how he actually _has_ been avoiding learning something new about Shiro, or directly asking him about himself.

So Shiro’s an art student. What does he mostly like to draw? What medium does he prefer? Why hasn’t he seen any of his artworks in his room? Does he do any art-related jobs aside from inking tattoos on people’s bodies?

Okay, stop. He has to stop.

Wanting to know more about Shiro defeats the purpose of putting up defenses; wanting to know more about him is painfully tantamount to wanting to be closer to him.

Wanting to be closer equals to wanting to be _more_ than physically intimate with him.

That’s something Keith isn’t about to allow himself to do with anyone so soon, especially not someone he only shares the bed with at least three nights a week, and definitely not someone who sleeps around with other people.

It's undeniable that he’s the absolute best that Keith’s ever been with on a bed, and that includes an actual human, a body pillow, and a Jarjar Binks sex doll a friend drunk-mailed him, and he was too curious to throw it away anyway (he got rid of it after two days). Shiro’s more than what Keith had ever hoped for in a sexual partner – granted, he has the looks and the porn-worthy body for it, but beyond the surface, there’s a lot more about Shiro to love -- and that is becoming a problem.

The problem is that Keith likes it when Shiro just simply ruffles his hair, or so much as puts a hand on his shoulder. The problem is what keeps Keith awake is not the expected sex fantasies, but the mere thought of Shiro’s smile directed at him. The problem is that only seeing each other during the weekends isn’t quite enough anymore. The problem is this tiny yet growing desire to be someone important in Shiro’s life, and not just a convenient asshole to fuck at night. The problem is the pang of jealousy he feels when Shiro’s phone lights up with a message from someone Keith has never met before, someone who’s been with Shiro for longer, way back before Keith stumbled as a drunk mess into his life.

The worst part is knowing that they mutually agreed to _only_ have a physical relationship, but Shiro makes it really hard for Keith to keep that end of the bargain.

“Hey,” Shiro slowly nudges his elbow and brings him back to the real world. “Should I take it that unless we’re naked you’re not that interested? You were spacing out.”

Shiro’s grinning, but Keith is suddenly flustered because when Shiro called for his attention, he snapped his head up, and now he’s totally facing the face of a damn god. _Fuck this face, I swear, fuck this beautiful face with the damn black rimmed glasses jeasus—_

“Or were you intentionally posing for me to sketch you?”

It’s that billion-dollar smile again, that radiance, that same addictive disgustingly sweet aphrodisiac he probably uses on every other sexually active sucker.

_Nopenopenope, absolutely no fucking way sir, nope nope nopenopenopenopee_

“So that you can jerk off to a caricature of me when I’m not there? Weirdo.”

Keith stands up before Shiro can say anything else, and starts walking away and back to where he should be – not within close proximity in which he’s incredibly sure Shiro can hear his wildly beating pulse.

_Not today, feelings. Not today._

“Sorry, gotta rush,” Keith says, waving a hand goodbye. “Maybe I’ll let you have the pleasure of drawing me someday.”

Without another word, he turns and continues on his way, knowing that Shiro’s wholeheartedly chuckling at his receding figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suddenly there's a bit of angst!?!? welp plot  
> thank you for reading!  
> anyway if you wanna sheith/shirocest, feel free to hmu on tumblr  
> this is the good-for-nothing slacker @eruriholic


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still crapping out words from my ass and i just hope this is still coherent  
> anyways, drunk!keith was fun to explore, and i hope you enjoy this shitstain of a prose

It’s Thursday of the sixth week.

Shiro’s awake and is quietly looking at Keith sleeping, his face softly illuminated by moonlight.

Strange, how someone so feisty and aggressive in bed could fall into a quiet tranquility like this, snuggly fit into the curve and bulk of his own body. He gently pulls a lock of dark hair back behind one ear, watches droplets of the moon hang onto his eyelashes. Shiro can feel his lungs as if they were his own, hear his heartbeat like a countdown to sunrise.

It’s peaceful moments like this that makes Shiro go back to the first night, back when Keith was just another one of those wasted lovesick strangers that he wasn’t planning on taking to his bed.

 

 

The first thing he registers is the blaring headlights of an approaching truck. The next thing is the persistent sound of an angry horn, and a silhouette against the two beams of light.

“Hey--!” Shiro yells as his latest customer stumbles into the street; he had just closed the shop and was intent on getting back to his place quick, not expecting to witness the heavily intoxicated and tone-deaf customer who sang the Elven hymns from Lord of The Rings franchise meet his death.

He can just imagine the news: _Heartbroken Drunk Cute and Gay Becomes Roadkill After Getting Explicit Dick Tattoo_.

Miraculously, HDCG sidesteps out of harm’s way and back into the sidewalk. As the towering vehicle passes them, the truck driver yells some obscenities before speeding away.

“Okay, man, that’s enough excitement for the day,” Shiro says warily, noting how HDCG has started swaying his body on his tippy toes again. “Let’s see your ID and I’ll get you to your address—”

The word ‘address’ seemed to be some sort of repellant and HDCG jumps a good distance backward, yet thankfully not back into the open road.

“I don’t need a man to take me anywhere,” he slurs, a hand raised to dramatically drive some emphasis into his words. He totally reeks of booze. Then suddenly he smirks, and pulls his shirt up in a totally unsexy way to reveal his recently inked hipbone. “Look at this. I got a tat. I’m hardcore now. I’m invincible—”

And like a slap from the powers that be, he backpedals onto an unsuspecting bicycle rider, and he falls to the brick pavement in an overly theatric way and ends up with his butt in the air.

“Fuck you!” The angry biker – an old wrinkly woman – croaks, waving a bony fist in the air before continuing on her way while muttering something vulgar about young people.

“You’ll have to get in line!” He yells back, laughs. There’s a slight abrasion on his forearm but he pays it no mind.

Shiro takes advantage of his position and pulls out his wallet from his rear pocket. There’s no mobile anywhere on him, probably intentionally left to avoid people. The younger man gasps with great exaggeration at Shiro’s light touch.

“Mister, did you just grope my butt?”

Shiro actually laughs as he opens the wallet and searches for an ID. “Don’t call me ‘Mister’, I’m not that old.”

“Okay, Sir.”

There’s a Resident Card in one of the narrow pockets of the wallet, one Shiro knows as the usual dorm card used in big universities. Regretfully, the name’s faded on the ID except for the word _Kogane_ , but Shiro can make out enough information to know that the guy’s a college junior, lives in M Uni’s Dormitory 2B. He blankly notes that he’s only a year younger than him before stuffing the card back in.

“Alright, now let’s hail a cab and get you back—”

Kogane suddenly sits up on the ground and violently shakes his head.

“Nope, not gonna happen,” he says before taking off.

“Uh, your wallet—” Shiro says, but he’s drowned out by the sound of mad laughter.

“I’m the fastest runner on the track team – you can’t catch me!” He says, his eyes fiery and victorious. Shiro tries to fight back a laugh as he watches the little runt fervently run around in small circles around him.

“Why are you still here? No one has ever come close to matching my speed!” Kogane yells wildly, eyebrows furrowed in incredulity as he continues his mad dash around Shiro.

“I’m not going anywhere unless I get you home, so you better—”

Kogane abruptly stops, stands uncomfortably close to Shiro and says, with an impish and hopeful look in his eyes, “You’re taking me back to _your_ place?”

“No, I meant your _dorm_ —”

“Can’t. He’s _there_.”

Ah, the ex he’d been rambling about while getting a penis drawn on his skin. According to his story, the guy was a complete asshole – they’d been going out for a month, but the guy was a classic closet case and they had to keep their relationship a secret – who was also flirting with cheerleaders to keep up a straight profile, and well, Shiro had figured out the rest despite Kogane suddenly stopping in his story to sing what he swore was the North Korean National Anthem.

“Kogane—” Shiro starts but the younger man suddenly bursts into tears.

“That’s one of the things he used to call me.”

Shiro bets that how a lot of people call him anyway, but then he’s wailing. Oh god, he’s wailing.

He sighs, resigned yet unwilling to give up trying to help this basket case. This guy is apparently too high and currently unable to take care of himself and Shiro just doesn’t have the heart to leave anyone like that out on the streets at this hour. He decides to just play along, let the guy tire himself out until it’s safe to hail a cab without losing his sanity.

“What should I call you then?”

Kogane’s face twists into another playful smile.

“So you’re the type who likes roleplaying, huh?” He seems to contemplate about it, then he grins. “Just call me _‘Sugar Tits’_ and I’m yours.”

 _Fuck_ , Shiro thinks. That lopsided smile and those half-lidded eyes are absolute predator-attracting material. That’s the kind of sly look that invites dirty old uncles in expensive business suits without meaning to. He himself ain’t a dirty old uncle but he’s what he considers to be a predator.

 _It’s gonna be okay_ , he thinks to himself. Absolute self-control. There’s no way he’s going to take advantage of the situation and sleep with a guy who’s unquestionably defenseless and inebriated.

No way; honey-flavored tits or not, it won’t happen.

Shiro prays that this kid will eventually exhaust himself soon.

 

 

Except Kogane doesn’t tire himself out and they end up in Shiro’s place, anyway.

It’s 10:27PM. Shiro prepares the grey leatherette couch, his mind set on sleeping on his bed _alone_ , and in his mind he hopes the night would go as peaceful as the cosmos allows it, but of course it doesn’t and without warning, Kogane’s squealing and running around the studio-type apartment like a little kid, his feet creating a melodious tapping on the dark vinyl flooring.

“Wow, are you a painter?” He says, grabbing a finished watercolor painting off the luxurious black wall. “What a lengthy roasted penis. It’s even smoking.”

Shiro looks over his shoulder; it’s a painting of a red-tinted 108-ton steam locomotive bellowing grey smoke from its chimney.

Keith continues to take down Shiro’s displayed paintings one by one and puts them in a large duffel bag lying on the floor until he finds a box of paint tubes by the classic ivory dresser. Shiro finally comes over to gently disarm him when he offhandedly asks if those are good substitutes for lube.

Shiro decides it’s best to hide his paintings and art materials, and carefully places them inside his closet.

When he thinks that silence has finally descended upon them, he hears something being zipped, and he really should not be surprised when he discovers that Kogane has stuffed his entire body inside the duffel bag, save for an arm which he deliberately leaves out to take a blurry selfie. Also, Kogane whines when Shiro offers to help him out.

“I’m reborn!” Kogane screams theatrically when he emerges. Shiro plays along, claps his hands together.

The college junior is visibly pleased, bowing to each corner of the apartment. Then his curious eyes fall on Shiro’s exposed biceps.

“Takashiiiiii, babe,” he swoons, and Shiro knows something nonsensical will follow. “If you fist me with that arm, is it possible for my ass to slowly eat it whole like a childbirth gone wrong?”

Shiro only blinks at him, decides it’s been a long night, plays along one last time and says, “Babe, you need to sleep,” then wordlessly turns back to get a pillow and sheet for the couch.

Once Kogane had learned Shiro’s name an hour ago, he began to overuse it. Shiro can’t even remember when Kogane started calling him ‘babe’. Maybe it was after he tried to pick a fight with a lamp post? Or was it when Shiro had calmed him down after having a tantrum over a fucking trail of ants? Anyway this guy was totally off his balls. The ridiculous dick tattoo on his hipbone becomes insanely less ludicrous with every crazier thing he does or say.

 _“Takashi, do you know your name sounds so oddly close to ‘tampon’?”_ (He laughed so hard at his own absurd joke that people were staring at them.)

_“Takashi, I think my armpits are trying to whisper something important to me.”_

_“What’s your view on socks, Takashi? I really think mankind would fall without socks. They’re fluffy and they sustain society.”_

One thing’s for sure; the extreme mediocrity and outrageousness of the night has exhausted _him_ and any threat he feels to his loins have long since disappeared and he’s fairly certain that there’s absolutely no way that his carnal desires have any power over him now.

Except when he’s about to turn his back around, the bathroom is already running and his visitor’s already naked under it.

Maybe it’s deliberate or the result of intoxication, but the door’s been left ajar, and Shiro has a painfully clear view of Kogane lifting his asscheeks and poking his fingers in.

 _Fingers_. Not just one. But actually _fingers_.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice how it’s been a while and I’ve become so _tight_.”

_Did you honestly have to say that out loud!?_

Shiro feels a nosebleed coming. He should already be used to naked bodies by now but somehow he just feels so attacked. Hopefully, maybe the blood loss would spare him of this evening.

 

 

It doesn’t.

And he actually blacked out for a moment, and what jolted him back to reality was the upbeat melody of Toploader’s _Dancing in The Moonlight_ blasting from his speakers. Kogane is still naked and dripping wet, and he’s dancing with nothing but Shiro's sunglasses on.

“Dancing in the moonlight, everybody’s feelingghh nnghhnnn and bride?? It’s such a faaaaynnghh nnananannaa… Everybody’s dancin’ in the moonlight…”

He’s fucking out of tune and he doesn’t know most of the lyrics, but his eyes are closed and he’s smiling like possibly the happiest idiot ever and Shiro can’t help but stare at him in wonder. Then Kogane removes the tinted glasses, opens his eyes, the water dripping from long lashes, and he’s also staring back.

Shiro stands and gets a dry towel and bath robe from a cabinet and walks over to the still dancing and grinning college junior who’s making water rain all over his bed space.

“Are you trying to catch a cold like that?” Shiro says gently as he helps Kogane into the bath robe and rubs the towel around his head.

“Only when I know you’re there to keep me warm.”

The younger man giggles like a delighted child, and in this close proximity Shiro can’t help but notice the little and suddenly precious things, like the tiny chip on his lower front tooth, the almost invisible scar on his chin, the twin moles on his collarbone.

Shiro’s just a guy, and he’s just another guy, and they’re both lightly swaying on their toes.

It’s probably some sort of magic or it must be Toploader getting to him, but everything seems unexpectedly pleasant and comfortable and Shiro doesn’t mind it if Kogane’s humming is still off tune.

Then Sixpence None The Richer comes up and Kogane’s intentionally messing up the lyrics and singing ‘ _Fist me_ ’, and Shiro’s back to being sober again.

“Okay, bed now,” Shiro says, turns the music off and continues to rub the towel briskly around Kogane’s head. He decides he’ll just have the couch; this guy will need to wake up to something more comfortable in the morning.

“Mmm, I thought you’d never ask,” Kogane says, his voice low, and without preamble he flings the unsuspecting Shiro onto the bed. Shiro’s momentarily surprised with his incredible strength, and that split second response delay was all Kogane needed to lock him under a pair of slender yet strong thighs.

“Hey—” Shiro protests, but suddenly there’s a taste of alcohol, shower water, and another tongue in his mouth. Weakly, he momentarily leans in and lets Kogane bruise his lips with eager teeth, pushing back with equal ferocity and hunger. There’s a fire in the pit of his stomach now, and Kogane grinding his ass on the front of his jeans is nothing but fueling it. A hand reaching under his shirt startles him into rationality and drives the carnal desires back into bay.

“Kogane, stop,” he heaves, pulling his face away from the overpowering sweetness of the college junior’s lips.

Fronted with rejection, Kogane stops rolling his hips, and his face scrunches up into a pout. Shiro tries not to look at his swollen red lips. He’s definitely adorable but again he reminds himself that it’s against his principles to sleep with anyone who’s vulnerable.

“Why? You’re obviously attracted to me.”

Shiro sighs heavily and runs a hand through his short hair – this isn’t how the night was supposed to go.

“Look, you just went through a break up—”

“And right now I’m looking for a hookup,” Kogane says, voice firm and eyes set on Shiro’s with a dangerously determined and predatory look. Shiro swallows hard – this guy is doing the damn invitations and he means it.

“We were both conveniently together tonight – I’m conveniently intoxicated and you were conveniently working, and we are both conveniently looking for a warm body to play with, feel human for a few hours. That’s all it is. Obviously the universe is sending us a blatant and profoundly deep message to _bang_. Tonight helped me decide you’re just the kind of partner I need.”

Shiro blanches, blinks twice. The intensity of Kogane’s gaze burns into him, rendering him surprisingly speechless. He focuses his thoughts together and tries to reason once again.

“This—”

“Christ, I’m trying to give you my ass here, Takashi,” Kogane drops lower to face him squarely. “I’m rarely stupidly brave and honest and shitfaced. You’re definitely not the type I’ll have the courage to flirt with when sober. Consider this your early Christmas and Birthday presents.”

Shiro swallows yet again. The eyes of this man aren’t those of someone who’s feeling vulnerable at all. This is someone who’s been fighting to, and wants to be in control, for once.

“You know this really isn’t the best idea.”

“Just shut up and fist me. That’s what the song said.”

“I don’t really think that’s what it—”

“Stop defying the universe, Takashi.”

A pair of lips descend upon him, and Shiro knows he's already a goner.

 

 

Needless to say, the unintentional yet intense fuckfest totally happened.

They crushed Shiro’s sunglasses under the sheets, broke his bedside lamp; Keith got his wish to have a metal arm up his ass before he ripped a pillow in half and vomited into Shiro’s handmade clay vase and had to ask for mouthwash.

It was a ridiculously crazy night, one that would invade Shiro’s mind in the most inopportune moments of the following days and weeks, but one particular moment stood out from the rest of the collective sexual haze. It was when Keith had finally exhausted the ecstasy in his bloodstream, and Shiro was cleaning him up from all the dried cream on his body.

Keith’s voice was low, somber, quiet, yet his words still ring so loud in Shiro’s ears until the present day.

_When I wake up, you better keep me. Don’t throw me away._

 

 

Now it’s six weeks of sharing his bed and body with Keith, and in the stillness and quiet of the night, Shiro feels a startling sobering clarity about himself and the world.

Life’s definitely a mess, but somehow in the middle of it all, he’s lying here with Keith.

Shiro softly pulls him closer and presses tender kisses on the curve of his shoulder and back.

Keith stirs half awake, mutters something about cheese and spoons, goes still again, but not before his hand finds Shiro’s arm snaked around his belly.

Shiro breathes slowly against him, inhaling his musk, eyes mapping out the contours of his delicate face.

Sometimes he forgets about their sex-only arrangement; sometimes the truth is too blaring and loud. Most of the time it just feels so natural with Keith; as if they skipped the entire elaborate courting phase and just naturally fell into their own surprisingly matching pieces.

But then Keith always leaves in the morning, his own phone still rings with booty calls from various paramours, and Keith is still pretending he isn’t falling for him.

He’s still waiting for Keith to stop pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srsly i still can't get toploader's song out of my head i just love it  
> thank you for reading! hope i can pull updates out of my anus soon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY AFTER MORE THAN A MONTH!!! the continuation of sap/crack/angst be here  
> im shittin i feel like my brain has gone dry, so i want to thank you all for bearing with me and reading this story  
> again, this is unbeta'd bc im lazy and honestly mentally poopy  
> hope you enjoy this one! xoxo, castello

When the door opens, Keith is honestly surprised that Shiro’s dressed. This time it’s a black-blazer-over-white-shirt-and-black-fitting-jeans combo platter with a generous serving of sex appeal and style.

Keith tries not to feel extremely ambushed, or to show any indication of it at all, except he swallows real slow and hard and his eyes don’t meet Shiro’s.

“Like what you see?” Shiro smiles; it’s super effective and Keith’s defenses are down by 87%.

“More for me to undress,” Keith ungraciously shrugs and Shiro’s small laugh makes his heart and legs melt the way they shouldn’t.

“Undressing can wait until later,” Shiro says, stepping out of the door and into the hallway. “Let’s go on a date.”

 

 

Eight weeks ago, Keith would never have thought he’d be going to the movies with a fuckbuddy, much less an eye-liner-wearing, pheromone-producing, underwear-dropping, ass-eating cock-sucking butt-groping human made with 95% aphrodisiac and 5% metal.

And yet it’s happening; after a week of not seeing each other (Shiro insisted that Keith’s exams should come first before any carnal desires, so not even phone sex was tolerated), they’re now lining up for a horror flick they both decided on and everyone else is either a couple or a group of friends, and they’re the only pair of guys who are coming to watch together.

As a couple.

Or maybe as a couple of single guys who happen to be together at the same place and at the same time, who are also coincidentally watching the same movie in adjacent seats.

It shouldn’t be this _awkward_ for Keith, not when they’d already shamelessly explored each other’s bodies with a variety of adult toys that only the glowing piss of unicorns can purify.

He shouldn’t be this _nervous_ , not when they’d already exhausted all possible positions from the copy of the _Kama Sutra_ that they found online.

It’s unreasonable for him to feel like a high school virgin who’s sitting next to his crush, not when he’s already more than tasted Shiro’s colossal erection wrapped in every differently flavored condom available in Shiro’s personal stash of sin.

He shouldn’t feel embarrassed and hesitate about holding Shiro’s hand, or leaning against his large frame, not when they’ve already fucked to the next galaxy and back again.

He shouldn’t be amazed at how easy it is for Shiro to just simply ask him out on a date.

It’s almost as if going on a date with Shiro is something only achievable through the Seven Dragon balls.

Do fuckbuddies even participate in these rather intimate social activities or should their interactions be exclusively in the bedroom? Is hand-holding even part of the deal? Why does thinking about kissing Shiro suddenly feel like trying to reach for the sun? Keith doesn’t have the answers to any of these. All he knows is that he’s feeling so attacked right now, and yet in a disturbingly good way.

How they’re both inside the theatre is a big blur to Keith. He sure as hell doesn’t remember paying for his ticket, or choosing which seats.

All he knows is leaving his mind palace and returning to the real world and finding out that they’re both seated in the back row, not another person within a 2-meter radius. Eerie background music starts to bounce off the walls as the movie starts and everyone is facing the screen.

Keith wonders if it’s just him, or isn’t this a perfectly staged scenario to commit immoral deeds outside the comfort and security of the bedroom, with the extended bonus pack of the possibility of being found out by the unsuspecting public?

He chances a look at his date. Beside him, Shiro’s legs are folded, hands on his lap, eyes glued to the horrendous scenes unfolding on the big screen. He looks like he’s really here for the movie, and not to engage Keith in any weird semi-exhibitionist sex scheme.

Not that Keith is going to trust this fuckboy to not try to touch him – or maybe Keith actually _wants_ Shiro to touch him? Well, it has been a week after all, and he may or may not have expected Shiro to automatically fling him to the bed once they finally saw each other again.

Then it happens – as if the universe has heard his internal monologue – Shiro’s hand suddenly grabs on his upper thigh.

 _Holy soft honey-flavored Arusian tits_ , Keith thinks, his chest swelling. _He’s not even trying to be subtle_.

Shiro’s fingers knead fervently on his jeans, putting pressure where Keith has horribly missed feeling Shiro touching him. The reaction is instant and automatic, finishes with an electrified jolt to his groin.

Finally, the groping commences.

Shiro’s audible gasp in the seat next to him brings him back to the nights he had orgasmed just listening to Shiro’s loud rapid short breaths and low growls as he pounded his thick fat space rocket into Keith’s eager black hole, (insert euphemism for c-u-m) dripping in rich rivulets down the back of his thighs and pooling in the back of his knees and tainting the sheets, Shiro gasping and moaning his name ceaselessly like a mantra as large warm hands dig deep into his skin—

Keith feels a little feverish, a little too hungry for attention where his pants are suddenly becoming tight, a little too apathetic about anything that doesn’t concern any part of Shiro’s body on or inside any part of his own body. He suddenly doesn’t care what Shiro’s been planning to do in the veil of darkness in this movie theatre as long as he is going to do it. _It’s been a week, for fuck’s sake._

Keith slides a little in his seat, trying to meet Shiro’s hand with the zipper of his pants. Shiro goes a little further – a little further _away_ from the seat of Keith’s pleasure. His teasing elusiveness makes Keith’s chest hum a bit louder.

Shiro moves his hand along the length of Keith’s thigh until he’s fully cupping Keith’s knee, clutches it in the way he would hungrily grasp onto his butt like a lifeline when they fucked. All this groping is making his head spin and why is Shiro dragging this out too long like old people foreplay and since when has his hand reached the back of Keith’s lower leg as if he’s on the floor—

Keith finally braves to steal a look beside him in the dark only to find that Shiro’s gone –gone to sit on the floor, one hand up to semi-cover his eyes and the other snaked around Keith’s leg. He’s actually shivering, muttering something like a spell under his breath—

“No, I told you not to go there, why can’t you just not read the fucking signs _damn it_ , don’t fucking open that door Bridget, haven’t you watched enough horror movies to know that you’re not supposed to try and look for the source of weird scratching noises under your house after midnight—”

He screams – the entire room erupts in shrieks and gasps – and Keith is just confused because what the hell is happening and how did the slasher get in the basement and why is Shiro screaming against his leg—

 

 

“Wow, that was just so sick, I just – I still can’t wrap my head around it,” Shiro says, his eyes wild as they exit the theater.

“Yeah, definitely,” Keith says, decides he will agree with everything Shiro has observed about the movie because (1) he honestly didn’t understand most of it, and (2) he’s too embarrassed for thinking immoral things when Shiro genuinely took him out for something other than sex.

“Why didn’t Trevor just use the chainsaw? He could have escaped easily with Erin and the kid.”

“I know, right?”

“And that unicorn-beaver hybrid really was out of left field.”

“Totally,” Keith nods along, his hands snug in his pockets. The movie is a big poopy mess in his head but he finds that he couldn’t care less about it because Shiro’s talking with him so naturally in all his animated excitement. This Shiro outside the bedroom feels like someone else and someone close at the same time, like a friend who’s always been around yet is just revealing pieces of himself now. He’s dorky and talkative and inquisitive, and Keith finds that these qualities are much more attractive than Shiro waiting for him naked on the bed.

“You weren’t really watching the movie, weren’t you?”

Keith stops in his tracks, eyes widening at Shiro’s amused laugh. “I—”

“Were you busy watching me instead?”

Shut up shut up shut up. Because it’s the truth.

Except Keith won’t say that out loud and feed his ego.

“Just kidding,” Shiro says, his smile unfairly tender and doting. Who authorized fuckbuddies to be this gentle and adorable anyway? “Come on.”

Shiro pulls Keith’s hand out of his pocket and holds it, pulls him forward. Keith fights hard not to lose his lungs – he’s forgetting how to breathe.

“Where are we going?”

Shiro’s smile is wide and bright, like a child who’s let out of school early on a Friday. “I thought we could go for some ice cream.”

 

 

It’s only been around three hours since they left Shiro’s place, and yet Keith is discovering all sorts of things about him that he has never thought about asking him on the bed. It’s not that he isn’t interested, but the idea of keeping their relationship physical is to only get to know the other’s bodies. Now, he doesn’t even have to ask aloud – Shiro’s the one unravelling himself, giving him pieces of his life for Keith to keep.

Shiro, this big man who paints on people’s skin for a living, who has an overly active penis and whose tantalizing body can put an entire porn site out of business, is in a word: _adorable_.

He has a sweet tooth – worships every flavor of ice cream he comes across, anonymously emails M&M’s and Oreo companies for a job well done, buys a whole cake for no reason at all on any random day. On weekends, he goes to three animal shelters around the city just to spend time with strays, letting them feel important and loved. During Christmas, he volunteers and dresses up as Santa Claus to visit orphanages within the city. Sometimes during Halloween, he even goes as Batman.

Keith realizes how weird it is routinely going to this man’s flat and fully giving himself naked to him without really knowing who he is. Now he’s been allowed to have more than a glimpse of Takashi Shirogane, a gift wholeheartedly imparted to him without question.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about the rapid beating inside his chest.

 

 

It’s exactly midnight when they get back to Shiro’s apartment.

The hallways are empty and humming with muffled small conversations of people behind walls. They take their time climbing up the stairs, their hands clasped between them while they exchange words instead of bites and hickeys, choosing tiny personal tidbits above quick physical gratification.

Shiro gently pulls him inside the door, pulls him in for the first time tonight into his arms. Instantly, Keith closes his eyes and melts into the welcoming warmth of Shiro’s mouth, lets himself be led across the tiny studio apartment towards the bed. They don’t bother to turn on the lights, bodies already memorized in nights bathed in sweat and semen and moonlight. He takes Shiro’s jacket off his shoulders, leaves it on a pile on the floor as Shiro hefts him up to his waist and carries him home to the softness of cushions and sheets.

Shiro tastes different tonight, like fine wine aged to perfection, blossoming into his lips and his skin in rich full flavor. Keith also feels somewhat different, somewhat renewed like being doused with a splash of clarity and wakefulness, with a deafeningly powerful desire to be claimed and to claim, to be branded with by teeth and fingers and tongue.

Shiro moves lower and runs his lips along the line of Keith’s jaw, sucks dutifully on the skin on his neck. Keith arches forward from the bed, his fingers lost in the smooth silk of Shiro’s short hair, and that’s when he sees _it_.

His lungs have yet again forgotten how to breathe.

The ceiling has been painted with a dazzling foray of colors – alternating hues of red and purple and blue and black, with flecks of white and gold and pink. A pattern of stars decorates the galactic masterpiece, heavenly deities of the sky brought closer within reach with luminous paint.

It’s mesmerizing, magical, breathtaking – it’s Shiro’s work of art.

“You like it?” Shiro whispers against his collarbone. “Took me a whole week to finish.”

Keith feels a lump forming in his throat, the back of his eyes threatening to burn. Why should his opinion matter, why would Shiro the artist care about the words of someone who ‘s only ever doodled potatoes  and stick figures in his life—

“Wait, it’s for _me_?”

“It’s a replica of – or an attempt, really – of the star patterns above Seoul when you were born twenty-one years ago,” Shiro says, his breath a ghosting of a warm caress against Keith’s skin. “Had to do some research, guess it was worth it.”

Keith sits up on the bed and Shiro readjusts himself so that Keith can see the entirety of the bedroom ceiling. It’s crazy, thinking how one man can suddenly decide to dedicate his free time in a single week to turn his ceiling into an entire painting, an even crazier thought that it’s for _him_.

“How did you even know it was my--?”

“You talk a lot when you’re drunk,” Shiro chuckles, cups Keith’s face in his hands. “I may not look like it, but I have a pretty sharp memory.”

“You’re pretty cocky,” Keith says, catching Shiro’s grin with his lips. He tastes so good, so right, so perfect in the moonlight.

“So you _do_ like it?” Shiro presses playfully again when they part for air, his hands rubbing the back of Keith’s head and neck.

Keith’s not supposed to feel like the luckiest, happiest person in the world, but he does.

“It’s _beautiful_.”


End file.
